


Negotiating

by allegoriest



Series: Theoretical Considerations of the Human Will on the Huphantike, the Labyrinth of Fortune, and the Patterns of Past and Future [2]
Category: Doctrine of Labyrinths - Sarah Monette
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:51:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5471957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allegoriest/pseuds/allegoriest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life goes on for Mehitabel after Felix and Mildmay leave the Mirador. Some things remain the same. Others, like her relationship with Stephen's betrothed, Enid Lemeria, begin to change. </p><p>Note: Permission was granted by the author of "Settling" to use Felix's letter to Mehitabel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negotiating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eirenical (chibi1723)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/gifts).



The wedding was to be held in late summer, and was shaping up to be an exceedingly grand affair. This, I knew with some confidence, was not at all at the request nor behest of the groom, but he was complacent enough in his role in it to understand that this was not _for_ him, and that he simply needed to play his part.

"It will be over more quickly than you think," I had assured Stephen after a particularly rigorous tailoring appointment that left him gritting his teeth over the necessary evils of inanities and endless details.

"Not soon enough for my tastes, I promise you," had been his dry response. "It won't be soon enough until it's over."

He had looked particularly bearlike in his exasperation, but was soon content enough under my hands and mouth that he could forget about the little inconveniences, or at least, put them aside for another day.

Other than offering an occasional outlet for his frustrations and a respite for the weary, I had more than enough on my own mind to pay much attention to the elaborate construction of the Lord Protector's wedding and whatever else it entailed—those specifics I left to Vincent, who ordered flowers and answered letters and declined invitations with a grace and ease and deft understanding that made me feel dreadfully self-satisfied with the cleverness of his appointment.

I was Edith Pelpheria, at least on the stage, still—though its run was quite quickly nearing its end; and I was a swan-daughter delicately sweeping my way through the complicated dance of the court, feeling eyes always on me and my position. I was the Lord Protector's mistress, after all, and how _would_ things change when he and Enid Lemeria were wed? They all hungered for the drama, like animals who had caught the scent of something bleeding, and all I could do was keep my chin up and make certain that thing was not _me_.

The benefit of keeping one step ahead of their predatory dance through the months leading up to the wedding meant that I had little time to dwell on anything else. Late at night I may have found my thoughts drifting—to Hallam, to Mildmay, even to Felix, to the haunted light of his skew eyes twisted with sorrow—but sleep soon claimed me, and my waking self knew better than to consort with the skeletons in my closet, no matter how shallowly they were buried.

***

  
Enid Lemeria had returned to her family home for some months following her betrothal, no doubt to tie off any loose ends before returning to the Mirador permanently. She returned in the early spring, and I had Vincent send her a letter reminding her of my promise to provide her with a private recital at her convenience.

I had no particular expectations that she would be able to find time in her schedule—nor, I had to admit, did I know whether or not she would want to, under the circumstances. Now that it was confirmed that we were two opposing pieces in an elaborate game being played, I had my doubts if she—or, more pointedly, her keepers—would find it seemly for us to associate.

To my surprise, she had sent back a prompt and short response, in her own hand, short and to the point:

 _I would love nothing more. I am at your disposal_.

I felt I ought to muse on that for a while, but under the circumstances, couldn't afford not to be at _hers_ , and so instructed Vincent to make the necessary arrangements with Leveque at a time that fit both our schedules.

"Stephen should of course be included. Oh, and invite Shannon," I added, as Vincent rose from his bow. "Lady Victoria obviously shouldn't be left out, then, though I doubt she'll attend—she still doesn't like me much." And after a moment, with a spark of mischief— "Lord Philip—and Semper, of course. Surely he'd like to see his sister. Perhaps we'll do the scene with Edith and Merrick. We've certainly gotten it down by now…"

Vincent caught my eye and grinned. "Are you looking to cause trouble?" he murmured lightly, with more collusion than condemnation. The time away from Lord Ivo had done wonders for him, and his quiet beauty shone through easily now that it was no longer strangled by a constant, world-weary exhaustion.

" _Any_ manner of distraction will be welcome," I sighed. "Surely Semper will forgive me my transgressions." In any case, he and Shannon had become and remained fast friends, so I would have one more ally at my back. Sometimes I found myself wondering if the two had slept together, but as that was neither my business nor my interest, I had never asked.

"I'm sure it won't go that badly," Vincent said sympathetically, as he turned to go again. "I'll be certain to make the arrangements, madame."

"You're much more optimistic than I am," I said, but waved him off. "Let Shannon know how this is all looking to play out, at least, won't you?"

There was an odd, shuttered look on Vincent's face for a moment, before he ducked his head with a slight smile. "I will." And he slipped out on careful, quiet feet, leaving me alone to dwell on one more peculiarity on top of all the rest.

" _Men_ ," I breathed with exasperation as Lenore padded in to begin unpinning my hair. I'd just about had it up to my ears with the lot of them.

***

Contrary to all expectations, the recital went smoothly.

Certainly it helped, I thought, that Shannon and Stephen's relationship had been continuously on the mend ever since Felix's trial. Something had been cemented there in that public show of trust that made things a little more relaxed, made their interactions a little more natural. That Stephen may soon be expecting an heir surely also helped Shannon be more at ease, with the weight of the protectorship no longer looming like a threat over his head.

Shannon effortlessly carried the burden of conversation once the recital was concluded, smoothing over the awkwardness between the Lemerii, or at least, treating it with so little consideration that it would have been _more_ awkward for Lord Philip to continue to pursue it. He swept even Stephen into a rousing discussion of the finer points of dissertation of the play's central themes, leaving me to be quite surprised when Enid Lemeria sank gracefully into the chair next to mine and leaned forward with one small, graceful hand on my knee.

"You were magnificent," she murmured, voice quiet, gaze bright under heavy lashes. "Thank you so much again for taking the time."

"I'm honored at having been given the opportunity," my tongue answered for me, smooth and automatic. "Your ladyship is too kind."

Enid's mouth twisted slightly, a light of amusement entering her eyes, though I could tell that she was fighting her own reservations, slightly awkward. "Please," she said, "Call me Enid."

It was an offering. Both of us knew very well what she meant, and I understood immediately that we'd stepped into a territory of negotiation. The lines were being drawn between she and I.

To be quite honest, I found myself surprised that she was taking the initiative. Surely her father would have choice words—but then, she would shortly become the wife of the Lord Protector, and perhaps, with that in mind, was intent to no longer be so obedient to her father's whims as many might expect.

 I favored her with a smile. "I am flattered, Enid," I answered, impressed enough by her initiative to find my estimation of her—already considerable, after her treatment of Semper—rising more. "Please do call me Mehitabel. Or Tabby, if you prefer."

Enid's fair cheeks grew rosy with delight. She cocked her head to the side for a moment, gaze darting briefly to the side, as if checking to see that the men were still fully occupied with themselves. "Does his lordship call you Tabby?" she asked, touching a hand to her own lips, as if to hide a smile. "I can't quite imagine it."

"He has not, yet," I murmured, with an answering secret smile.

"Perhaps I could set an example."

My eyebrows rose. "Do you care to?"

Enid let out a little laugh, eyes dancing. We were leaning together, whispering like schoolgirls, and I felt I should know better, but didn't dare not encourage this young woman to keep her head high and proud, not when we both knew that she was soon to be holding both wrists out, awaiting being shackled.

Frankly, I thought a girl with an independent spirit would suit Stephen well. That she'd obviously extended an olive branch to me was all the better—for me, at least, though I couldn't imagine Stephen objecting. Judging by our continued intimate association, he favored women with independent spirit.

Enid's answer never came, however, as the men seemed to have exhausted their line of conversation and Lord Philip had found his way over, frowning disapprovingly. Enid leaned back with an easy grace, greeting her father with ease and charm, demure and obedient and—to the keen eye—caring not a whit, allowing it to roll from her shoulders with ease.

She thanked me graciously as they departed, leaving me alone with Stephen and Shannon as the others milled out as well.

"You two seem to be getting along," Stephen commented, one hand coming briefly to rest on my hip. "That's good."

"Apparently," I found myself answering, sounding a little more pleased than I would have liked. "I don't suppose that was any of your encouragement."

"Not in the slightest," he admitted. "But as I intend to keep you, it would make things go more smoothly."

"Must you put it like that?" That was Shannon, gliding in to grasp my hand and bow over it with a kiss, a little laugh. "Well, perhaps Tabby prefers it that way? —You were a delight today and always, of course."

Stephen let out a little grunt, but didn't seem displeased, and Shannon's gaze warmed at having gotten away with it.

"I think it's fine," was all I said, dropping into a mocking curtsy, as far as I could while still leaning against Stephen's side. "I'm pleased that tonight went well. I'll be putting Edith away soon—so I'm happy Enid could see her before then. Though," I added slyly, "Much as I enjoyed this evening, I should hope that after her wedding, she'll be welcome in the Teverius box at the Empyrean more often than not."

Stephen simply raised an eyebrow. "We'll see," he said. I supposed we would.

***

Some weeks later, as the summer nights grew long, a letter arrived for me from a place I'd never even seen on a map: _Grimglass_.

Vincent handed the letter over with more urgency than I'd seen him show in all the months we'd been together, and given the clearly recognizable spiky handwriting on the front of the envelope and its wildly exotic location, I could hardly blame him. He certainly could have opened the letter himself, but he'd chosen to leave it to me, though I was frankly amazed at his restraint.

I ripped it open so quickly that I nearly shredded the envelope, letting it drift to the ground as I clutched the contents in both hands. A second small note slipped free, twisting to drop at my feet as well. I ignored it for the time being, seizing my spectacles when Vincent fetched them from the armoire, unasked.

The letter was, as I suspected and hoped beyond all measure, from Felix. And the news—

I felt my knees grow weak and took a few steps back, sinking gracelessly into a chair and poring over Felix's words as if doing so would let me reach out and grasp his narrow shoulders, shake him until his gaudy curls bounced. His hand was spiky and even, the tone jaunty and careless and wry all at once. Effortlessly, perfectly Felix, the Felix that had been—and still was, despite all his enormous and innumerable flaws—a precious friend, one that had against all expectations succeeded in reaching the end of his journey and found himself…

"Ma—Mehitabel?" Vincent prompted insistently, breathlessly, clearly out of patience with me staring vacantly at the page with my eyes not even shifting to scan its contents.

I opened and closed my mouth a few times before I found the words I was looking for. "He's—he's alright. They both are. They—it honestly sounds like they're _fine_. Not even a lie. Good god, I can't believe it." I felt a breathless laugh straining to bubble up from my chest, tight and clenched in my throat, a burning sensation behind my eyes.

Vincent sank down next to me, leaning down to carefully pick up the discarded second note between two elegant fingers. His eyes were bright as well, a quiet, deep sort of relief etched between his eyes.

"That's… that's a note for Shannon," I murmured, trying to regain my composure, taking a deep breath and glancing back down at Felix's peculiar postscript. How very like him.

"For Lord Shannon?" Vincent echoed with an odd tone. "But I thought he and Felix—"

"Yes, he and Felix," I said, seizing the second note and opening it with only a moment's hesitation. Felix surely should have expected this, and therefore I had no reason to feel bad about it.

The note was short, and simply read:

_Thank you for taking care of my rings. I am wearing them and keeping the chain in safety. It did its job keeping everything together, and I appreciate the kindness after the fact, though I rejected it at the time. I know you had little reason, and I apologize for that, and appreciate your action the more for it._

_I hope you are well,  
Felix_

Will wonders never cease. I hadn't thought Felix actually knew how to apologize, let alone to Shannon Teverius—not after all this time. Clearly whatever had happened to him was more than I could begin to guess—was significantly more complex than I could begin to piece together from between the lines of his letter. Detailed and honest though it was, I knew Felix well enough to see where all the shadows lurked behind the words.  

I stared at the note for quite longer than it needed to be read, then carefully folded it again, sinking back. I felt simultaneously electrified and somehow exhausted. I wanted to give the note to Shannon; I felt that it might burn a hole into my hand the longer I held it, heavy and hot with a history that wasn't mine to share. But the thought of dealing with that right now exhausted me beyond measure. I loved Shannon dearly, but I couldn't bear supporting him against any of his own demons when my own were rearing up, sudden and ugly.

The solution, of course, was simple.

"Will you deliver this, please?" I said, as calmly as I could muster, holding Felix's note for Shannon out to Vincent, who accepted it automatically before suddenly looking as though it might bite him, eyes widening.

"Me—? But—"

I couldn't deal with that, either. "Yes, Vincent. You're my secretary, aren't you? I'm hardly going to deliver my own mail, least of all at this time of night. I would like him to receive this right away, so…"

Vincent bowed his head, running his fingernails over the crisp folded lines. "Of course, madame," he murmured, lips twisting in a dry smile. "I'll do so right away." He did hesitate, though, as he rose. "… you'll be alright in the meantime?"

I waved a hand with a certain grace that I think we both knew was utterly false, but thankfully Vincent had the tact not to mention it. "I'll be fine. Please ask Lenore to bring me some tea, however." After a pause, I added, "I'll wait up for you."

Vincent bowed low, then stepped quickly out of the room as if his own footsteps were chasing him.

I sank back again, looking back down at Felix's letter, fingers moving in a lazy circle against the letter as if doing so would let me hear his laugh, or feel Mildmay's touch, or see Gideon's smile, or kiss Hallam's lips. Stubbornly, it remained nothing but paper and memories.

***

_P.S. – Mildmay says hello._

***

A knock came at my door some time later, as I sat staring moodily into the fire and regretting my decision to send Vincent off and plunge myself into a veritable hell of waiting. I was on my feet before Lenore could so much as stir to answer the door herself, hurrying over to pull it open.

"Vin—"

Enid Lemeria stared back at me, pink lips parted in a soft "oh," her hand still half-poised to knock.

Witless, I stared back, realizing quite suddenly the state I was in, hair unpinned, spectacles crooked, a wrap hugged tightly around my shoulders. In contrast, Enid was a perfect picture of grace, wearing a deep midnight blue gown that brought out golden highlights in her skin, her dark hair pinned back from her face without a single hair out of place.

"Lady—Enid," I stammered. "Is something the matter?"

Color began to rise in the girl's cheeks, a note of real hesitance crossing her features. "I—no, Madame Parr."

"—Mehitabel." It was automatic.

Her cheeks darkened. "Mehitabel. I'm sorry. I just… I'm sorry, this is too very forward. I'll leave. I do apologize—"

She began to turn, and for some reason, I found myself reaching out to her, catching her by the sleeve. We stood there for a moment, foolishly frozen, both of us feeling quite obviously so out of our depths that good manners and common sense languished and died most terribly, leaving us both out in the cold.

Swan-daughter, I reminded myself, and managed a smile dragged from the arsenal of a hundred queens of the stage. "Enid. Come in. Clearly it's something that couldn't wait, and I've no particular desire to be left alone with my thoughts any longer. Please," I added with some insistence as she hesitated. "I don't mind."

"My thanks, then, Mehitabel," she murmured, stepping carefully inside and taking a deep breath, the line of her shoulders still tight and straight.

I took advantage of the brief moment staring at her slim back to compose myself, piecing together a semblance of the woman that should be here in my place, and reached out to clasp her elbow, guiding her carefully towards the fire.

"Please, have a seat. Lenore, please fetch something to drink for our guest and I," I called to the girl hovering just out of sight, looking perplexed and a little alarmed at my sudden usurpation of her position as the answerer of doors. Seeming almost relieved, she ducked into a curtsy, vanishing out of sight.

"You really needn't go to any trouble," Enid said, sinking down into one of the armchairs and looking up at me with earnest dark eyes. "This is already—well, I know this is terribly improper."

I let my lips curve slightly. "I myself don't have much claim to propriety," I said dryly. "Though you might wish to be mindful of your own reputation, especially if you'd like to continue to consort with me."

"I do want to," Enid said stubbornly, with sudden vehemence. It brought a character to her smooth, dark face; I was reminded slightly of Antony at his most mule-headed, but liked the expression far more on her. "I've no intention to be your enemy. And I don't… I don't wish for things to be awkward…"

"I'm not sure there's much hope for that," I said, but tried to soften my words. When her face fell regardless, I pressed on. "Not from my side, I promise you. But you know what the court is like."

"I won't cause trouble," she agreed smoothly, and I believed her. "But certainly we can work something out. If only behind closed doors."

I felt my eyebrows slowly raising, and was grateful for Lenore's return with tea, and something a little stronger, which I accepted gratefully. "Hence the visit?" I murmured.

"I didn't want to lose my nerve," Enid admitted, with a slight smile, lips curving over perfect, straight white teeth, her slim fingers curling around a teacup. "I'm afraid father rather despairs of my impulsiveness."

"I can't imagine that being a trait he appreciates in anyone, least of all his own daughter."

Enid chuckled, a low, soft trill, relaxing a little more in her chair. "Certainly not. But what father doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Is this just a social call, then?"

She seemed to hesitate at that, then gave a little shrug of her shoulders. "I believe so," she said at first, then seemed to grow more firm. "Yes. But I… pardon me for asking, but is everything alright? You seemed rather urgent…"

"Completely out of it, you mean," I let my mouth twist dryly, sliding into a grin as her hands wrung and fluttered in response. "Oh, no, don't mind it, I know. I simply… received some news tonight. Good news," I assured hastily, "But news that brought up a number of memories."

"Oh. I'm sorry," she said softly. "That is to say—well, if it's good news, then perhaps sorry isn't the word. I mean—" She heaved a great sigh, setting her cup down, and then looked up at me earnestly, dark eyes wide and steady. "Mehitabel, would you care to talk about it?"

That took me by surprise—both the offer, and the fact that suddenly, somehow, for the first time in as long as I could remember, I thought that perhaps I wanted to say yes.

"It's a very long story," I hedged instead, trying to draw myself up. "I'm not altogether sure that…" I trailed off as I watched her shoulders sink a little, reaching out one hand to touch the back of her palm lightly. "Well. Certainly not all in one night, Enid. But perhaps getting a little bit off my chest will help stop the news from burning there, at least. What do you know about Felix Harrowgate…?"

***

We talked well into the night. At some point it occurred to me to wonder what was holding Vincent up, but I supposed I _had_ sent him in case Shannon needed someone there to be the support I couldn't be, so I could hardly fault him for it.

Enid was a far better conversational partner than I had given her credit for, capable both of holding her own in repartee, and in listening quietly, conscientiously, with no judgement. I told her how I had met Felix and Mildmay, about our travels to the Mirador, and about Felix's most recent escapades and eventual banishment. I told her about the Felix and Mildmay _I_ knew—so that she could temper the knowledge she'd gleaned from the court gossips, the false and unwieldy mirror that distorted them.

Stephen had begun to understand, at least a little, how much we really didn't know about the two of them; Shannon and Vincent, too. I was happy to share in Enid the same sort of secret knowledge, and the relief that came with knowing their story continued somewhere far from here, even if I were no longer a character in it.

After that, we discussed how she was settling into the Mirador; what play the Empyrean would put on next; and whether or not she would be able to attend. She seemed quite confident that she would, and I assured her that I would do all I could to make it happen.

We talked about the wedding, now a few short weeks away, and her smile, very briefly, dimmed.

"Are you nervous?" I asked her.

"Well, yes," she said. "I'm not—worried. His lordship seems kinder than I'd been led to expect. But…"

I let out a little snort at the thought that Stephen would be considered particularly _kind_ , but she was perfectly right; he had a distinct lack of cruelty, and for a woman in her position, surely that could not be understated.

"But there is still a great deal unknown, yes?" I prompted. I felt that this was perhaps one of the reasons she'd really come tonight, much as she'd seemed to enjoy herself otherwise.

"Of course," she admitted. "There's a lot I don't know. And I've never…" Her cheeks began to burn a little again, flushed all the way across her nose this time, like Felix when someone dared say anything nice to him, or Mildmay, sometimes, if you bothered to say anything to him at all. "I've not so much as kissed anybody."

"I hope you're not looking for tips," I laughed, offhand, then quickly closed my mouth as her eyes went wide. Oh, good god, she might have been. "—well."

"Do you love him?" Enid interrupted hastily, which had, at least, the desired effect of catching me off guard.  


"No," I answered easily, automatically. It didn't take much thought.

"But you like him."

That _did_ take a little more consideration, but I found myself nodding without much trouble. "Yes, I do. I'm content."

"Have you ever been in love?"

"You _are_ being forward," I said, which shut her up quite quickly, but I didn't like that either, and sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "… yes, I have. And not with Mildmay Foxe, either, before you ask."

"I hadn't been going to," Enid said lightly. "I'm sorry."

I shook my head. "It's alright. Honestly, that's… a whole other story, and it's far too late tonight."

Enid glanced quickly up at the clock on the mantle and sprang to her feet. " _Goodness_. I hadn't realized—I'm so very sorry, Mehitabel, I do need to leave. I can't believe…"

Almost in response, I heard a soft knock at the door, and saw Lenore moving hastily to answer before I had the nerve to try to do it myself. Rising as well, I reached out to clasp Enid's hands, feeling them warm and soft and delicate between my own fingers, darker and rougher with the weight of years.

"Will you come back again soon?" I surprised myself by asking, sincere. "If you'd like to hear more… And certainly you might need a shoulder to lean on, I imagine, over the next little while." I let a hint of mischief enter my voice, head ducking forward conspiratorially. "And of course, if you'd _like_ to talk about Stephen…"

Her answering smile was purely dazzling, hands squeezing mine and lifting them to her lips. I felt a slight shock run through me, warm and unexpected. It was gone as quickly as a breeze, and she stepped back into her own swan-daughter poise, save for the sweet curve of her mouth, crooked and pleased.

"I would love to," she murmured. "Good night, Mehitabel."

"Good night, Enid," I answered, breathless around my own sudden lightness. "Now—it isn't seemly for a young woman to be out on her own this late, you know. Let's find some way to get you home without offending half the Mirador…"

She laughed, walking hand-in-hand with me toward the door, where Vincent was waiting, and where I no longer dreaded what he had to say, and found that I was, quite suddenly, rather looking forward to it.


End file.
